The Skillman Foundation

We rode our bikes all over Detroit,
which, then,
was to the white picket fence
just past the pine tree next door
and back home again—
an entire city packed into this
lot of concrete meadow.

We had to play in the field
of Mama’s vision—
Which was never consistent in range,

especially when she would fall into
her season of drinking.
One time she allowed us to go a little further
and we thought we found a new Detroit.

The point just past the neighbor’s house—
The depth of this city beyond it,
my perception
A world as small as my hand.